


Take You Down

by nightships



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Loosely Based on TMFU and the Italian Job, Non-Graphic Violence, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 04:11:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9303605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightships/pseuds/nightships
Summary: “What does any of that have to do with a compass?” Emma asks, still trying to come to terms with the revelation that they just broke into Robert Gold’s safe, for Cora Mills no less.“Wounds that are made when we’re young tend to linger."(Loosely based on both The Man From Uncle and The Italian Job.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evil_isnt_born](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_isnt_born/gifts).



 

Emma slides into the room, listening to the silence ripple through the hallways she’s just cleared. The muted click of her shoes on the floor beneath her feet is noticeable, but she doesn’t have to worry about being loud right now.

She needs to be _quick._

Rolling her shoulders back, she faces a large, seemingly blank marble wall. The reflection of her jacket stains it crimson as her hair paints a streak of light above it, but the rest of her blends in with the black of the stone. Had she gotten this far without knowing what she was after, she wouldn’t have been able to see it at all.

As massive as it is sleek, the safe nearly succeeds in its mission of blending in to its surroundings. The door is taller than her by more than a foot, and the seam of the lock’s compartment is impossible for her to find by sight. The dim lighting around her, sadly, isn’t just here to help set the mood. Emma steps forward and reaches out, dragging her fingers as slowly as she can across the cold marble, and thinks it’s a shame she can’t take this with her, too. Safes are easier to sell than the secrets inside of them.

“Romancing the stone, Swan?”

She stills her hand, an effort to show him he’s wrong that has the exact opposite effect. Killian’s chuckle is warm in her ear when she pauses, the earpiece buzzing slightly for added effect.

“I thought we agreed to keep the line clear.”

“ _Agreed_ is a strong word.”

Emma doesn’t need to see him to know exactly what he’s doing in that moment. She knows he’s slumped in the driver’s seat of his car, seat leaned back as far as it will go, dark coffee ignored in the center console next to him. He’s pretending to scroll aimlessly through his phone, but behind the privacy screen he's watching her move through the building, keeping tabs on what _should_ be an empty building. The thing is - and she's told him this repeatedly — it’s much easier for any passers by to believe he’s really waiting for someone when his mouth doesn’t move.

He lets her work for four minutes without stopping her, but he’s not quiet in the slightest. He never is — it’s always commentary on her technique, on the owner of the safe she’s breaking into, on what he’ll spend his share of the prize on. In the month she’s worked with him, he hasn’t given much away, but what he does share he shares more freely than anyone she’s ever met. She can practically mutter along word for word when he gets to the part about buying a sailboat and _sailing off into the big blue nowhere_.

“Am I boring you, love?”

“Boring is a strong word,” Emma shoots back, resetting the dial. Her second attempt will be easier, now that she knows the weight and the feel of the lock beneath her fingertips.

“You know,” he drawls, sipping at his coffee, “you could speed things up if you wanted to.”

“I bet I’d be faster if I could concentrate,” she tells him pointedly. Killian wants her to drill, but bringing it up only makes her more determined to crack the safe by ear. She has three minutes left to try it, and she’ll use every last second she has if it means she gets to do things her way.

“Learning to work with distractions is a vital part of the job. Perhaps you should—“ he pauses when the lock pushes in and spins backward into the metal, revealing a handle. Emma tugs on it immediately, smirking toward the security camera. The prize they came here for sits in plain view, nestled among a wristwatch, a leather-bound journal, and neatly-pressed bills. It’s like he wanted to make this as easy as possible for them. Emma steps in and holds up their prize proudly, making sure he can see her smug smile.

“Don’t tell me how to do my job, Jones.”

The words have barely left her mouth when the alarm bell begins to ring.

* * *

Emma whips around the corner, narrowly dodging a flurry of bullets. Her braid smacks heavily against her cheek, stinging instantly, but if it’s the only pain she feels the entire night she’ll consider believing in miracles. The dark corridors that made breaking into the safe room so time-consuming before are working in her favor now; the security detail chasing after her seem as unfamiliar with the layout as she was a week ago. Despite the fire racing in her lungs and the sweat sliding down her breastbone, Emma feels a chill when more gunshots echo against the walls, and she only sprints faster toward the car where Killian waits for her on the street.

He apologizes for not warning her by peeling away from the curb the second she throws herself into the passenger seat of his car. Smoke fills the space his tires previously occupied, and the friction where rubber meets the road paints shadowy twin streaks of black beneath them. He drives like he’s traced the route a hundred times over, and he _has_. As her heart calms from five minutes of running a wild panic, Emma thinks back three hours ago to him poring over giant maps, endless dust dancing in the light falling through the windows while the sun set. His brows furrowed then like they do now, but she can see a bit of a thrill in his eyes when they pass below the streetlights. Something in the sure grip of his hands on the wheel and the press of his shoulders against the seat says he was made for this.

When her thoughts turn to wondering what he must have looked like when he first sat down in the driver’s seat of a car, though, she forces herself to stop, to close her mouth before the question can form. There’s no point asking about his past when she refuses to give up any of hers. She needs to trust him, not know him.

It’s clear they’ve lost their tail as the city lights and traffic start to fade, but Killian keeps his speed as they begin winding around the foothills of a small mountain. For the first time since grabbing hold of it in the safe, she chances a look at the small treasure curled into her fist. It’s barely three inches wide, both heavy and fragile in her palm. The needle's thinner than a hair at its point, but it directs them north unwaveringly. Emma turns it over and traces the monogram on the back with the edge of her fingernail, scraping away at years of old grime, and the little noise it makes is all the invitation Killian was waiting for.

“I thought that model didn’t have a built-in alarm,” he starts. There’s no missing the grin in his voice.

“It doesn’t. They installed one.”

“Didn’t help him much in the end.”

“No it didn’t,” she hums, turning the compass back over to watch the needle. It turns gently every time they curve further around the mountain, tempting her to follow whatever path north might lead to. “Tell me why she wanted this instead of cash again?”

“She mentioned some nonsense about old memories,” Killian replies. Now it’s an eye roll in his voice she hears instead of a smile.

“They have history?” Emma looks up at him from the compass, no longer distracted.

“You didn’t read the file?”

“I looked at the blueprints and the safe."

“But not the profiles?” 

“I didn’t need to know.”

Killian opens his mouth to respond and closes it almost immediately, his jaw ticking as he weighs her words. Emma knows he caught the meaning in them, but she won't apologize. She doesn’t _want_ to know about the man they stole from or the woman who hired them to do it. They're not allowed to be real to her, these people they steal from.

It’s several minutes later when Killian speaks again. She’d been _sure_ he didn’t want to talk to her, not after hearing she hadn’t read the background information on their client and their mark, but even now he can't resist.

“His father was in finance, hers was in agriculture,” he begins. “The Mills and Gold families are very old, very rich, and _very_ careful about pruning their family trees. Cora Mills was set to marry Robert Gold when she got pregnant. The baby wasn’t Gold’s, and the father’s family leveraged it into a marriage.”

“What does any of that have to do with a compass?” Emma asks, still trying to come to terms with the revelation that they just broke into _Robert Gold’s_ safe, for _Cora Mills_ no less.

“Wounds that are made when we’re young tend to linger,” Killian replies, glancing at her for another long moment. Emma waits for him to say whatever’s wavering on his tongue, but he just  takes the car around another bend in the road.

She tells herself she prefers the silence to the sound of his voice as they drive, but it isn’t true. Not when she can feel the way he’s dismissing her from where he sits. _Leave it to him to speak volumes even when he’s not talking_ , she thinks to herself, folding her shoulder into the curve of the door. In defiance of her own guilt, Emma sits and watches another Alpine city come into view. The white houses perched along the cliffs reflect almost perfectly in the rivers waiting below, and every window she sees is dark.

The city waiting in the valley is a different story. Everything glows yellow, both from the lights and from the stubborn heat in the air. For a minute, Emma watches the city shift and shimmer as traffic hums below, trying to pick out the mansion they had just left. It’s childish, she knows, but keeping watch on a house she can no longer see gives her an excuse to turn her head away from the man ignoring her. If she distracts herself long enough, she can pretend she doesn’t feel curiosity battling with her pride.

* * *

Cora’s waiting for them when they pull up to the helicopter pad. Emma’s never seen her before in her life, but there’s no mistaking that this is the woman they have been in contact with. She stands with her shoulders regal and expectant, her long red coat brushing the gravel in the wake of the spinning rotor blades. Despite the wind and the humidity in the air, not a hair is out of place.

Killian reaches for the compass as they move closer, wordlessly asking to take the lead. It’s a last, silent jab at her before they finish the deal, but it doesn’t affect her the way it’s meant to. As soon as that helicopter takes off, what she knows or doesn’t know about Cora Mills and Robert Gold won’t matter.

Emma watches him stride forward, offering the compass in his outstretched hand — Cora inspects it briefly, turning it over as if appraising its value for the first time without actually lifting it out of Killian’s palm. She watches Cora’s lips move, but it’s only Killian’s answer that she hears.

“I’m not in the habit of letting trouble catch up with me.”

Cora smiles, and only then does she take the compass for herself, slipping it into a black bag that she immediately hands off to be stowed in the helicopter. A stone-faced man hands Killian their payment, and then the helicopter is disappearing into the stars overhead. The resulting wind sweeps across the pad, pulling strands of hair out of her braid and across the bridge of her nose. The knowledge they too can slip away into the dark washes over her, and when Killian returns to the car she readily meets his eye.

“What did she say?”

If he thinks it’s strange that she’s talking to him after hours of silence, he covers it well.

“She asked if Gold had any idea that we’d been there,” Killian tells her. “Cora hopes to be safely out of the country before he realizes what’s been stolen from him.”

“Sounds like she has the right idea.”

“Indeed.” He gives her a ghost of a smile, one she’s barely able to see in the waning moonlight, and Emma knows she’s been forgiven when he hands her the keys.

She tells herself it doesn’t matter either way, his opinion of her. Her ability to get along with a partner is irrelevant so long as she can trust them not to screw her over, and Killian’s checked that box. He does his job when he’s fed up with her guardedness and when he’s happily challenging it. She knows it’s the reason they’ve made it through the increasingly dangerous jobs their handler keeps shelling out, though she refuses to give him the pleasure of hearing it aloud. Picturing the cut of his smile and the knowing look in his eyes the last time she outright asked him for help is enough of a reminder.

Emma glances at him as she lets the road pull them back into the city and sees he’s already looking at her, the same smile in her head on his face. She raises an eyebrow at him. This time it’s actually meant as an invitation.

“I don’t mean to upset you, but I think we make quite the team.”

Emma huffs out a laugh, allowing him that much as she leaves Cora Mills and Robert Gold and the compass on the dark road behind them. They become one of the pairs of headlights lighting up the city, and when the car is safely parked behind an old repair shop she feels completely anonymous walking on the cobbled street beside him.

“There,“ Killian points out, nodding toward an alleyway. The smell of hot bread and garlic hits her nose so strongly she wonders how she didn’t notice it before, but then Emma’s been distracted by the architecture in this part of the city. Even the ruins seem to have fallen purposefully here.

She follows his lead to a market cafe that’s more awning than building, but before she can slip around the corner his hand catches hers, winding their fingers together. Emma stops in her tracks even as understanding blossoms in her mind.

“Here? Do we have to?”

He squeezes her hand and gives her a patronizing smile before twining their fingers together, pointedly pulling her closer. “I hardly think it’ll hurt to give ourselves a bit of cover, given tonight’s events.”

Killian’s challenging her, pushing at the walls she keeps so firm between them. If he keeps tally on the little games they play in his head the way she does, her backing down from him will be a point in his favor. Beating him at his own game, though? That’s much more tolerable. Emma lifts their hands up, catching him off-guard when she ducks under them and slides under his arm.

“Fine,” she tells him, watching his expression slide from confusion back to bravado. “Then you’re paying.”

* * *

They keep their voices low throughout dinner, both because Emma doesn’t speak as much Italian as he does and because it adds to their charade. It’s not all that difficult, given how good the food tastes — Emma can’t remember eating this well in weeks, and that counts the day they crashed a garden party at the racetracks. The half-finished plates in front of them were filled with spinach ravioli and caprese, shrimp pasta and garlic mussels, not to mention fresh-baked bread and possibly the _best_ cheese she’s had in her entire life. The staff has been distant them while they eat, and part of her suspects it’s because of the way Killian’s been sitting so close. He’s doing it deliberately, making it difficult for anyone looking at them to give them more than a second’s glance without feeling like they’re interrupting someone. The second they sat down he pulled his chair close to hers. When the food came, he brushed his fingers up and down her arm almost possessively, even though the guy left as soon as the food hit their table. Even now he’s taking moments to lean forward, letting his lips linger near her ear while he asks her for bites off her plate under his breath. Playing the couple too wrapped up in each other to notice much else takes almost no effort from either of them — a feat that surprises her, given how often they bicker behind closed doors — but she still isn’t sure that the act is necessary. Besides the staff, the only other people here are two weather-beaten men in their sixties who seem to have arrived hours ago. They sit quietly, not so much as moving except to nod when a waiter comes to refill their mismatched glasses.

“Something on your mind, love?” Killian follows her eye to the counter and back, pushing his own glass of wine toward her as he eats another shrimp from the pile she’s been ignoring.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but that’s not going to make me spill my secrets,” she tells him through what's supposed to look like a tipsy, flirtatious grin. “It takes a lot more than that.”

“Is that right?” He goes to hand her the drink menu, too, but when she swats it away he catches her hand instead, letting the menu fall. Now that they’ve eaten, it’s easier for her to forget her earlier annoyance, to let herself play into the charade. She’s sure she doesn’t look like she belongs here, but his dark hair and sharp features certainly make up for that. When he smiles at her mischievously, even she has trouble remembering it’s not real. “I didn’t take you for a woman who preferred wine to begin with.”

“Who said I don’t like wine?”

“The glass in front of you.” He has a point; Emma’s wine glass is full. “Although I suppose you’ve made a fair point. I don’t know very much about you, Swan.”

“There’s not much to tell,” she hedges.

“Oh, I don’t believe that. Everyone has a story. You yourself admitted a moment ago that you had secrets to spill.”

“That’s just...something people say.”

He looks at her — it feels like he looks _through_ her — and Emma takes a sip of wine to stall for time. Killian can be incredibly insistent when he wants to be. She’s usually just never on this side of it.

“Would it help if I went first?” Killian asks, changing tack. Her eyes slip up to his of their own accord, unable to resist the temptation of looking at him to see if he’s still teasing her. They’re greener than blue under the neon light filtering through the awning and perfectly serious. He means it, but there’s a little smile toying at the edge of his lips, too.

Maybe it’s curiosity. Maybe it’s to keep the subject away from her own past. Maybe it’s the way his eyes are piercing hers, challenging and somehow asking permission at the same time, but Emma doesn’t say a word. It’s not _yes_ , but it’s not _no_ either.

“Were I not limited by our menu tonight, I’d be drinking rum right now.” His eyebrow lifts as he glances down to his wine glass and back up at her. “And if I had to venture a guess as to your drink of choice…tequila?”

Emma snorts, wrinkling her nose at him. “No?” Killian remarks, emboldened by her response. “What about whiskey, then?”

“What part of _who says I don’t like wine_ did you miss?” she asks. “I just prefer red.”

“Ah. That’s not much of a secret,” Killian nods down to her jacket, his eyes almost imperceptibly lingering on her lips before he continues. “But I don’t think you wear that jacket on jobs because you prefer the color. I think it’s your totem.”

“My totem?” Emma scoffs.

He nods, perfectly serious. “You wear it to remind yourself of who you really are.” Killian lifts his hand from hers to tug at a chain around his neck, revealing a large silver ring. “I used to wear this on my other hand. Now I wear it to make sure I don’t forget what I’ve lost.”

Emma doesn’t immediately realize she’s leaned forward until he ducks, lifting the chain from his neck entirely. Silver pools in his palm, all so she can get a closer look, and Emma's too curious to feel the weight of his eyes on her. Curling vines trail around the large gemstone, which is as red as her jacket, and she can see what looks to be a set of initials sitting on the inner rim of the band.

“My mother’s,” he supplies, reading the question on her mind. “She gave it to me when I enlisted in the Royal Navy.”

“You were in the Royal Navy?”

“A lieutenant, before I left.” He smiles, and Emma catches a glimpse of relief in his eyes before he drapes the necklace back out of sight. The smile twists to a full-blown smirk as he adjusts the chain beneath his collar, his guard coming up fast to distract her from the question bubbling up in her throat. “I know you’re dying to know if I looked as good in uniform as I do now. The answer is yes, although I much prefer the freedom to button my shirts as I—”

Killian’s voice drops off suddenly as his eyes fly to something behind Emma’s head. She nearly turns to look over her shoulder, but his hand is covering hers in an instant, the pad of his thumb pressing briefly into the side of her wrist under the cuff of her jacket. It’s all the warning she gets before his expression switches again. He reaches into his wallet, tossing bills onto the table to pay for their meal. Then he's pulling her chair out for her and leaning in dangerously close, his nose brushing the curve of her ear.

“Company’s just arrived. Follow my lead.”

His hand snakes around her waist as she steps free of the table, attempting to school her expression as quickly as he had. Tipsy and unassuming had worked for her a moment ago, so Emma slides her eyes around the place like the last thing she wants to do is leave.

Two men have joined the pair at the bar, but no drinks rest in their hands. Their heads are together, a stern conversation passing between them, and the shorter of the two has made the mistake of letting his jacket fall open. The grip of his pistol is just barely visible; Emma wonders briefly if it’s the men or the sight of the gun that caught Killian’s attention. She picks up the pace just in case it was only the former and leads him out of the alley, turning to continue down the street instead of to their car as she feels a set of eyes fall on them.

“I thought we were following my lead,” Killian hums, his hand warm where it presses at the small of her back.

“I don’t want them knowing where we parked.”

“They wouldn’t know where we parked. We’d have been gone before they saw the car.”

“You don’t know that.”

Emma can hear footsteps behind them, distant but steady. She begins to walk faster, glancing across Killian to look down each alley they pass. Every single one is a dead end, or seems to lead back the way they came.

“What’s the plan, darling?”

The words aren’t out of his mouth before she pulls him into the alcove between two storefronts, shoving him into the shadows. He presses her to him, steadying both himself and her in the wake of such sudden movement, but Emma’s focus is elsewhere.

“Where’s your gun?”

“Shoulder holster.” She begins sliding her hand to his chest at once, her fingers brushing over his heart. Emma’s not sure whether the shiver in her fingertips is him shuddering or her shaking, but she can’t help pausing when she feels the circle of his ring against his chest. “What are you doing?”

“Pull me closer.”

He does as he’s told, his hands much more steady than hers as they travel around her back. Emma feels it the instant his hand lands on the grip of her own gun. He goes to pull it from her holster, but she shakes her head.

“Not yet. See if they’ll pass us by.”

Seconds pass and she realizes just how _close_ they are — her feet are tucked between his, and the full length of her arm is resting against his chest. His thumb has skimmed the curve of her rib more than once since reaching for her weapon, but he’s hardly blinked while waiting for her next move. This isn’t playing pretend at a dirty dinner table. They’ve never done this before. It’s always been stakeouts and break-ins for the two of them, or jobs like stealing the compass for Cora. They’ve never been part of the same act until this moment that she’s thrown him into, and right now nothing’s harder than trying to keep her eyes from falling down to his mouth the way his have fallen to hers.

“Killian—“

His eyes snap up to hers at the sound of a cobblestone shifting underfoot, and Killian’s fingers tense on the gun before drawing it out. She whips his out of his holster, stepping to the side and whirling toward the man who stands facing them in the alley just as he fires somewhere feet above her head and ducks behind a row of trash bins. Killian fires back at him, and then the chase begins.

This time, Emma has no memory of a map to fall back on, no voice in her ear telling her what the next step should be, no plan except to keep her feet moving as fast as they can. It’s terrifying, and despite Killian running beside her she feels completely untethered. She only belongs to her feet when they hit the ground, only knows her hands are her own when she manages to fire a shot. Everything else is a blur in the sticky night air whipping around them, grey and blue and yellow and back.

“This way!” Killian shouts. His voice trails from where his body is disappearing around a corner, and Emma’s immediately switches directions to follow him, accidentally slamming her shoulder into the stone. Pain blooms from the impact, throbbing in time with her racing heart and punctuated by the sound of more gunshots in the street. She’s out of bullets, and the second Killian sees it he sweeps his arm toward her and shoves her toward the wall.

“Get behind me,” he demands, firing the moment their assailants fly into the street. He manages to clip the man’s shoulder, but his companion comes on stronger and faster than he had, barreling toward them. While his partner lies howling on the ground, he seems determined to bring them down fighting.

Fortunately for him, Emma’s never been very good at taking orders.

While her partner dives low, shoving his shoulder into the man’s diaphragm, she ducks lower, moving away from them entirely and searching the ground for something heavy. She sees litter, a motorcycle someone’s parked nearby, a stack of dirty, weather-beaten cardboard boxes. Useless. The man Killian had just shot yells out in pain again, distracting her away from useless junk and letting her eyes settle upon an upturned wagon with loose lumber inside.

The man writhing on the ground lets out a yelp and attempts to stand, slowing her to an immediate stop, but the affect it has on his shoulder is enough to send him back down onto the street with another pained cry. The tone of this particular scream draws the attention of the man brawling with Killian, and after that Emma doesn’t even _need_ the wood. His distraction gives Killian enough of a window to get in a messy punch to his jawbone, and when he falls to the ground Killian’s dragged with him, still clenching his shirt in case that punch hasn’t knocks him out cold. He looks at her, his eyes wild and his chest heaving, and slowly Emma releases her hold on the board. It clatters to the ground, disrupting an agonized groan from the man with the gunshot wound.

“Who the hell are they?” Emma asks him, walking over to the man Killian had knocked out. He’s not dressed like any of the men who chased after her at Gold’s manor, but she can’t fathom anybody else being able to find them in this city.

“There must have been a tail,” Killian mutters, wiping blood from a small cut on his lip. “We can check the car for bugs before we leave.”

“You would have seen someone putting a bug on the car,” she shoots back, attempting to roll her shoulder. Anything more than a shrug sends another deep throb of pain down her arm. “You were in it the entire time, weren’t you?”

“Not when I grabbed my coffee,” he tells her bitterly, although he sounds more convinced than before. She knows he would have watched the car for every moment he waited in line. “What happened to your arm?”

Emma stiffens, but that hurts too, so there’s no point denying it. “I ran into a wall trying to keep up with you back there. It’s not that bad.”

“That’s good news.”

The voice comes from nowhere. It’s high and triumphant, as if pleased to catch them both off-guard. Emma looks for the source and finds it in the face of a short man perched atop the hood of their rental car. He’s smiling broadly, but there isn’t a single speck of mirth in his dark eyes. The moment Killian’s eyes land on him he slides onto the ground, humming an octave below the sound of the sirens growing ever closer and balancing some of his weight on a gilded cane. Killian’s completely still at her side, his shoulder a foot in front of hers, and when nobody says anything else she feels the need to do _something._

“What the hell do you want?”

“I’d like to congratulate you, Miss Swan. It’s not every day I meet the woman responsible for introducing me to the flaws in my security system. Improvements, thanks to you, are being made as we speak.”

Emma blinks and looks at Killian, whose jaw is clenched so tight it it must be painful. Blood is gathering on his lip again, sliding down the corner of his mouth, but his focus is glued on the man in front of her.

“You’re Robert Gold?”

“Ah, so she _did_ do some background research. I wasn’t sure you had spent quite enough time together to learn his history, given how you left in such a rush,” Gold croons. “Tell me, Killian, have you already seen the compass off, or do I still have time to send my regards to Cora?”

“Afraid you just missed her,” Killian shoots back, his voice overly casual. It doesn’t fool Gold in the slightest, but Emma isn’t sure it was meant to. “Perhaps next time.”

He attempts to step in front of Emma, to block her view from him, but Gold smiles and Killian stills mid-step. Gold’s eyes flick over Killian’s shoulder to meet Emma’s eye, and now that they’re trained on her she feels a chill slide over her skin. It’s too knowing a look to mean nothing.

“It’s funny you should mention a next time.” Gold shifts his cane to his other hand and reaches into his jacket, prompting Killian to take another step closer, but he only pulls out a folded piece of paper. “For your benefit, Miss Swan, I’ll make things plain. Killian was formerly in my employ, and did a fine job following orders when the price was right. I believe his part in the recent crime involving my property was his way of hinting that he would like to be involved in my company once more.”

“That’s quite the presumpt—“

“I suggest you hear me out before interrupting. After all, our time here is short,” he says, rolling his eyes skyward to indicate the sirens. They’re quite close now, minutes away from finding them gathered here together. The man with the gunshot wound would be perfectly able, despite his pain, to tell local police where they went. Killian’s jaw snaps shut again, and Gold nods before continuing.

“I’m a powerful man, Miss Swan. It didn’t take me very long to find the both of you enjoying your little moment here, and it certainly won’t take me long to find you once you’ve moved on to your next little project. I’m giving you the option of avoiding all of that mess and making a deal with me instead.”

Even without being able to see most of his face, Emma can feel the fury rolling off of Killian. The knowledge that he knows this man — that he _worked_ for this man — has caught her off-guard, but it’s not as pressing as the knowledge that he found them. “What’s your deal?”

“It doesn’t matter what his deal is,” Killian interrupts again. “We aren’t taking it.”

“I’m afraid your options aren’t very many at the moment.” Gold leans back on his heel and reaches out with his cane, tapping the side of Killian’s tires. It’s not well-lit away from the street lamps, but it’s obvious now that he’s slashed all four of their tires. They’re not getting out of here, or at least not in their car.

“If you’d like to avoid extradition and all the fun that comes with a prison sentence, I suggest you two agree to hear me out. Take all the time you need to decide,” he tells them, his voice overly polite.

Emma considers the chance that running for it would give them. It’s despairingly slim, and it seems like Killian’s figured that out, too. There’s no time to ask him what Gold means, about what his _history_ with Gold was supposed to be, and with each second passing them by Emma realizes just how many questions are unfolding in the inches between her and her partner.

But she can’t question Killian now, not with Gold leering across the asphalt at the two of them.

“What’s the deal?” she bites out, watching his eyes for any hint of deceit.

“I have a job that needs doing. Your stunt with the safe proved to me that you’re the pair for the job.”

“Just one job, and then what?”

“And then you may both be on your merry way…on my honor,” Gold adds, catching Emma’s skeptical laugh. “It’s now or never, Miss Swan.”

Emma looks to Killian, feeling Gold’s eyes on her as she checks his expression. It’s stony as ever, unyielding in the wake of Gold’s ultimatum, but there’s something else in his stance. Emma recognizes it from the alleyway not twenty minutes ago; he’s waiting to follow her, whatever call she makes.

She can’t bring herself to say it out loud, so she nods, but Gold breaks the silence anyway. He giggles, a mad, triumphant noise that cuts the air around them, and draws his hand into his pocket once more, pulling out a cell phone this time. A car arrives almost the instant he hangs up from his call.

Emma stares at herself in the window, watching a distorted mirror image of Killian appear behind her. Her shoulder throbs terribly as she slides into the backseat and he follows behind her, and when the door shuts the song of the sirens disappears completely. The moon is barely visible over the edge of the mountain from where she sits, and once the car begins to move she can’t see it at all.

In the darkness, Killian reaches for her hand, but she pulls her fingers away.

* * *

“Indulge me, Miss Swan. Did you come through this door when you broke into my home earlier today?”

Emma never thought she would see this place again, but here they stand, staring up at Gold’s enormous property from the edge of a wide, sunken terrace. It’s monolithic against the night sky, more a fortress than anything else. It’s fitting, given what they’ve gotten themselves into, and she she supposes that’s half the point — he’s gloating by bringing them here, delighting in playing the cat that lets the mouse run a few feet away before pouncing and trapping it once again.

“Does it matter which door I came through?”

“Perhaps not. But then,” Gold says, stopping and turning to her on his way up the stone steps, “I suppose that wasn’t the door you were really worried about, was it? Not when the locks on my safe door proved so much more of a challenge to you.”

The tone of his voice makes her wish she’d just told him which door she’d broken through. Everything about him is predatory, from the way his words curve off his tongue to the way his eyes constantly move between her and Killian. She refuses to look back at him and give Gold anything else to learn about her, but she’s not sure how well it works. Not only does he have a past with Killian, but he also knows her name.

Emma’s not sure which one makes her angrier.

With a near-theatrical flourish, Gold beckons them through the side door that she knows will lead into one of the mansion’s three kitchens. The lack of marble floors and columns makes a difference, but it does nothing to lull her into feeling safe. There are houses and then there are homes, and this is definitely not a home.

“I’d give you the tour, but seeing as you’ve seen to it yourself, Miss Swan, perhaps we might get right to the point.” He’s walking more quickly now, his cane barely brushing the floor as he moves them forward, and Emma’s heart begins to sink when she realizes where he’s moving. Every step she takes down the stairs toward the cellar pulls her further away from the hope of getting out of this unscathed. When her eyes fall on the safe, even hope feels ambitious.

“Show me how you did it.”

“That’s the job?” She looks at him before remembering herself, before remembering what happened the last time she didn’t give Gold the answer he wanted to hear. “I don’t have my equipment with me.”

“I don’t see any drill marks.”

“That’s because I didn’t use a drill. I listened.”

He tries not to look impressed, but there’s no missing the glint of greed in his eyes or the way he shifts his weight toward her. “Then I suppose we’ll need to find you what you need.”

It takes only minutes to find what she needs, and even with the added pressure of Gold and Killian watching her she manages to open the safe in just under five minutes. This time, she feels no pleasure in winning the battle against the lock mechanism.

“All right,” she says without preamble, gracelessly putting distance between her and the heavy door and moving toward the stairs. “It’s open. Mission accomplished.”

“Ah-ah,” Gold tuts, shaking his head. “That’s not all I need from you, I’m afraid. This is not the only safe of this size you’ve broken into, correct?”

“No.”

“And, given the tools, there’s hardly a safe that could keep you could, is there, Miss Swan?”

“I don’t know.”

Gold hums, not deterred in the least. Up until now he’s treated Killian like the pair of silent bodyguards waiting at the top of the stairs, but all of a sudden he turns and gives her partner his full attention. “Don’t think I’m neglecting you, dearie. Miss Swan and I simply need more time to get to know each other.”

Unable to bear not knowing, Emma lets her eyes fall on Killian’s face. He looks angrier than she’s ever seen him, and all at once a fury begins to flare up in her, one completely separate from her feelings toward Gold. She didn’t just _miss_ something by skipping over his background information in the file. His eyes land on her, softening palpably with apology, and in the second before Gold’s eyes find her again she lets him see the fire she’s feeling.

“If you get me what I need, I can open any safe you give me,” Emma blurts out. It’s reckless, making promises to a man with no intention of returning the favor, but right now reckless feels better than the alternative. It’s safer than letting Gold see an inch of how much trust she’d put in Killian.

Gold laughs that awful laugh from the parking lot and smiles, revealing a row of narrow, crooked teeth, and she knows she’s failed again. He paces around the two of them, his eyes never settling for longer than a few seconds.

“If I know Killian Jones, I know he’ll have told you just enough to ensure you get the job done,” he begins. “But, I’m afraid, he’ll have left out a few details. I may have held on to a trinket that once belonged to dear Cora, but she took something of far more worth from me.”

“You want us to steal something from Cora Mills?”

“Not _something_ ,” Gold replies, holding Killian’s gaze a beat longer as he emphasizes the syllable, “I want her heart.”

Emma blinks, sure she’s heard him wrong. “Don’t you think it’s a little late in the game for second chances?”

“He means the thing she loves most: her family’s company,” Killian supplies. “He wants us to break in and steal information so he can take back what he was meant to gain in the marriage.”

“You do realize she’ll be expecting you to retaliate, right? She just had us break into your safe for the compass.”

“Then I suppose you’ll just have to put your heads together, won’t you? I’m sure it’s hardly be the first time you’ve shared close quarters,” he adds suggestively.

Before she can deny it, before she can wonder just how much of them he’s had a glimpse of tonight, he’s gone. The door creaks heavily as it shuts, spilling light upon the stairs and little else, and then they’re completely alone. It’s the last place Emma wants to be.

“He’s right, you know.”

Emma rounds on him, ripping her eyes off the stairs. “Right about what? That you left out the part where _you used to work for him_ when we took this job?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” She demands, torn between backing against the wall and shoving into his personal space. The more she speaks, the faster her heart beats, the harder it is for her to keep control of her words before they leave her mouth. “What he said is true.”

His cheek flutters as his jaw clenches, stalling for time, but he’s as good as told her the truth just by meeting her eye. “I was a different person back then.”

She scoffs, and the last of his patience finally disappears. _Good_.

“So you’re saying you know my past better than I do?”

“I’m saying I don’t know you at all.”

“That’s rich, coming from the woman who waited a month to even tell me her real name,” he says icily.

“Can you blame me?” Emma fires back at him, tossing her hand toward the stirs. To her surprise, he blinks, opening his mouth without uttering a word.

“No,” he finally says, letting his gaze drift back toward the safe. He stares at nothing for a while, but then his eyes focus, narrowing on a single point. His legs begin to carry him through the safe door and into the vault. She doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want a distraction from the anger, but he’s walking right toward her, holding something in the palm of his hand.

And now he’s opening her clenched fist, gingerly placing something light and cold inside.

“This belonged to my father,” he says softly, letting his hand drop away from hers. “He left shortly after giving this to me. At the time, I convinced myself it was a promise to come back. It wasn’t.”

Emma doesn’t breathe a word, but her eyes betray her for a moment. He’s telling the truth.

“I did spend time working for Robert Gold, but it was never an equal partnership. He asked more of me every time I finished a job, and the price for failure was steep,” he says softly, looking at her too meaningfully for her to bear. Slowly, he lifts the arm that ends at his wrist, and she thinks of the first question she promised herself never to ask of him. It had seemed far too intimate at the time, and now that he’s here in front of her, baring the truth of his past to her where they might be heard by anyone, she knows she was right. “This was the price I paid for leaving, along with my father’s watch.”

She watches him carefully, unable to keep her thoughts off of the cameras watching them now. Was Gold still listening in, or had he gone off to enjoy his night knowing the both of them were trapped down here until the morning came?

“How much is it going to cost us to get away from this?”

“I don’t know,” he tells her, still seemingly unable to look away. Something about the urgency in his eyes makes her wonder if he’s trying to keep her focused on him rather than what Gold can do. He’s asking her to choose trust instead of simply accepting it as necessary terms for her survival. “Emma, I did mean what I was saying before. Gold was right when he said we could do this. I may not know much about you, but I’ve seen what you can do. I have faith in you.”

Her eyes flick between his, hoping he can read her now as well as he could when it was just them on their own. There’s not much light to go by, but if it’s not helping him it’s not helping Gold either. Emma reaches out, carefully setting his father’s watch back in his hand.

“We only have a few hours left until dawn. I have a feeling Gold won’t be sleeping in.”

It’s a mark of how serious he is that he doesn’t make any jokes about it before going to rest in a corner of the cellar, letting the night fold in around him. It’s a mark of how terrified _she_ is that she wishes she’d heard him try one anyway.

* * *

When the sun rises, Gold gives them a room upstairs that’s bigger than her old apartment and sets them to work, hinting that he’ll be popping in from time to time before he makes his exit. They’re up on the third floor, too high up to make a safe exit from the windows, and after Gold’s footsteps retreat she hears another pair approach to stand guard outside.

She and Killian quickly sweep the room for camera first, and when they can’t find any they look for bugs. She finds four, but Killian finds six, including one under the collar of her own jacket. They flush all but two down the toilet in the en suite, leaving the rest in strategic places so Gold won’t feel the need to move them to a new room. They give each other a look, but Emma’s closer to the faucet. With the water running on high, they have a minute or two of guaranteed privacy.

“Why would he bother bugging us if he knows he has us on the hook?” Emma asks him, crossing her arms and leaning her hip into the counter. “If I thought running off might get us out of this, we wouldn’t be here.”

“The man has a safe taller than the both of us in his cellar, Swan. He’s paranoid, and the way he does his business I’d say he has a right to be.”

Emma thinks of the headlines she’s seen bearing his name, or rather his business’ name, and supposes it’s true. “So maybe he’s not worried about us running off. Maybe it’s something else.”

“Such as?”

“Well, he keeps making creepy comments about the both of us,” she shrugs.

“You think he plans on hearing something…amorous?” He does his best to hold back the smirk just in case she takes offense, but then it falls into something much softer. He steps forward meaningfully and brushes her hair away from where it brushes against the furrow of her brows. “He takes pleasure in getting under your skin, love. It’s what he loves, having an advantage over others. That’s why he had Cora’s compass and my father’s watch. They’re his trophies.”

She stares up at him, able to see the pad of his thumb in her peripheral vision, and lets a sigh escape her. Just for this second, she lets what she’s feeling appear on her face.

“The next time we hear or see him, follow my lead,” he tells her, pressing down on the faucet lever until the water stops. “We can talk later.”

It never fails to impress her, the amount of information that money and power can put in front of her. It normally takes her a week to gather the intel that Gold has provided in a matter of hours, but it’s unflinchingly accurate. He’s been tracking Cora’s entire travel itinerary by the hour, watching her land in the Alps and change over into a vehicle that went north right into the mountainside.

The snow would give them cover, but it would make their approach that much more dangerous. Killian’s certain Cora will have doubled her security detail now that the compass is back in her hands, and she’s inclined to agree.  It’s several hours into planning that they finally hear footsteps creep close to their door, and the first test begins.

“I think I should try and get in contact with Cora,” he tells her, breaking the comfortable silence they’d been working in. “She’ll let us in if we approach her first.”

Emma furrows her brow, confused, but he nods back at the bathroom and understanding floods over her. “Cora’s going to be suspicious if you reach out to her,” Emma argues, pulling her voice into one that resembles impatience. “What would you even say?”

He crosses his arms, shrugging placidly. “I’d say I enjoyed reconnecting with her, and I hated how our fleeting our visit was.”

“You can’t play the charm routine on Cora Mills.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not going to work,” she shoots back, as though it’s obvious. Her eyes flick to the door, but she doesn’t hear any footfalls moving away down the hall.

“You’ve seen it work before.”

“Yeah, on random women in the street,” Emma scoffs, her voice raising a little. “Not on people like us.”

“Are you saying it wouldn’t work on you, love?” His voice dips low, and he moves toward her, deliberately pushing them closer to the door. Emma follows his lead, but she doesn’t move her eyes from his, trying to sort out what he’s about to do before he does it. When he sets his hand against the wall next to her face, she lets her head rest against it, straining her ear for any sign that it’s Gold listening to the two if them. “You don’t find this distracting, in any way?”

“It’s going to take more than just distraction,” she mutters, too aware of how easy it is to sound flustered.

“That wasn’t a no.” He curls her hair behind her ear again, but the movement’s different than it was in the en suite, more charged. She’s not sure how it can be for Gold’s benefit, unless he can see through doors, which means it isn’t for Gold at all. “For the last two minutes your eyes have not left mine, Swan, and we’re only talking. Imagine what I could do were I to put a little more effort into our conversation.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Perhaps I would.”

The door shifts in its frame, as though someone had just leaned a little too much of their weight on the other side, and immediately rights itself. Killian’s eyes dart toward it, and then he slides them back to her, seeking something he has yet to ask for. Emma’s close enough to see his pulse fluttering at his neck, close enough to see the strands of color in his eyes. Both of them breathe shallow in the inch of air between them, waiting for the other to say something. Neither of them do. Instead Emma feels herself begin to move closer and closer to him, a rising tide drawing toward the sand. His fingers slip from her cheek to her neck, down to curl around her side, and she releases a breath she can’t remember taking.

Quick footsteps begin to retreat down the hall, and the spell breaks. Emma retreats to look him in the eye, watching as his eyes come open.

“That was—“

“Convincing,” she tells him quietly, cutting the moment off and stepping away from his hand. For a moment he holds it in place, curled around the empty air. Emma brushes her fingers through her hair, trying to remember who they are, why they’re here. “I think it did the job.”

Killian lets his hand settle at his side, fingers flexing and relaxing before he answers her. “Let’s hope so.”

* * *

Night falls, and Cora ends up settles at a location Emma confirms from Gold’s intelligence — a winter chalet in Valtournenche. It’s not out of the country like Killian guessed, but they can hardly complain about the convenience of the location. The travel flowing in and out of the nearby resort will make it easier to arrive without much fanfare, and the falling snow will provide for their cover.

They hold a brief conversation about it near one of Gold’s remaining bugs and he appears at the door not five minutes later, barely concealing his excitement for their upcoming journey. Emma’s more than ready to leave the luxurious prison they’ve spent the better part of two days living in but Killian stands rooted to the spot.

“How do we know you’re going to hold up on your end of the deal?”

Gold presses a hand to his chest, letting out a gasp. “I am a man of my _word_ , Mister Jones. I would have thought you remembered that.”

“Aye,” Killian nods. “I also remember you weaseling your way out of bargains whenever you could.”

“Perhaps my accompanying you will keep you at ease, then,” Gold offers. “After you’ve successfully stolen every file from that external hard drive, I’ll only be a ten minute flight away.”

“And what about your security tape?”  

“The tape will travel with us. Should you return with everything that I want, you’ll be allowed to take it with you.”

“That’s not good enough,” Killian presses, drawing up to his full height. “I want to see it. Otherwise we I might need more time to be truly sure we are ready to leave.”

Gold hums. “More alone time, you mean?” Killian’s eyes narrow — this isn’t in the plan, fighting with the man they’re supposed to be leading on, but the temptation is too much for Gold. Now that they’re about to risk everything for him, he’s here to rub salt in the wound. “Oh, I do mean it like it sounds, Killian. I stopped by earlier and heard the two of you _discussing_ your plans. But far be it from me to judge Miss Swan’s taste,” he continues loftily, raising his brows. “I, for one, find it comforting that there are some women who don’t find a man with a disability off-putting. It must put you at ease to know she doesn’t care that you are no longer…whole.” He looks down at Killian’s wrist, eyes dragging across the scar, and Emma’s own fingernails bite into her palms.

“Keep talking and we’re going to lose our window,” she tells him, cutting off any opportunity for him to continue. “Give us a guarantee you’ll destroy that footage. Prove you really are a man of your word, and we’ll leave with you right now.”

Emma watches his eyes tighten in calculation. He can shove them on a helicopter and place them in the city where Cora waits to try and speed them along, but he that’s as far as his hold on them will stretch. After that, he has to rely on them to finish the job.

Happier than Emma has ever seen him, Gold reaches for the phone on the desk, dialing two digits and raising the receiver to his mouth. “Bring the tape up to the third floor, and prepare the helicopter to leave.”

After that he turns and steps back toward them, smiling like this was his idea all along. “I hope you enjoy flying, Miss Swan.”

* * *

They sit together, uncomfortably warm in the layers of ski gear they’re wearing and with Gold’s eyes on them. Emma couldn’t be more thankful for the noise of the rotor blades beating in the air above them, because it means Gold can’t be heard properly when he speaks. He can’t do much more to them at the moment anyway, so Emma ignores him entirely, reciting the plan, the true plan, to herself in her mind. _Wait for the lights. Get to the safe. Get out. Wait for the lights. Get to the safe. Get out._

To her left, Killian sits studying the patch of air below his wrist, disgust clear on his face. He knows her eyes are on him but he refuses to look up, and some part of her knows she’d be the same way if it was her. She can’t imagine what it’s like to sit across from the man who did that do him, even though Gold’s as far from her as he is from her. The tiny fragment of the story she knows can’t be anything compared to the actual memory.

Gold’s words circle her head, taking the place of the plan as they echo in her mind. They’re based on a lie, but she feels like contradicting them anyway. However much they’ve bickered, whatever they’ve said to each other, he’s never been less than whole to her. She can’t convey it to him with words, though, and he won’t look at her, so she turns her head away from the both of them to stare out the window.

Snow turns everything gray in the sky below them. The people below them go about their lives like they always do, completely unaware of the two lives hanging in the balance miles overhead. It’s the kind of beauty Emma would appreciate aloud if it were just the two of them in the car, and she can almost hear what Killian would say to her. It feels almost cruel that in the moment she wants to reach out for his hand, she can’t.

The mountains rises up from the Earth before them, looming like sharks in deep water, and Gold begins to fiddle with the buckle of his seat. By the time Emma’s eyes move to Killian he’s doing the same, still not looking at her. With no other options left, she follows suit.

The wind picks up when they’re closer to the ground, making their landing a shaky, stuttered one. Emma steels herself before the door opens but it hits them hard anyway, whipping her ponytail into her cheek and her neck. She has to squint to see through the snow blowing around them, but when her eyes adjust to the near-whiteout she sees the outline of two separate cars waiting for them.

“You have six hours to return with Cora’s information,” Gold shouts over the wind. “Don’t return empty-handed.”

He and his bodyguards step into the second vehicle, waiting for them to enter the first to drive off. Emma’s convinced that it’ll be bugged until she sees it has no driver, and she realizes he’s made this difficult for them on purpose. The road is icy and narrow, more curved than those on the hills in the south. Gold doesn’t want them to return with the files. He wants the files. Whatever happens to them along the way couldn’t matter less.

Emma turns to Killian as they slide into the car, a rueful, humorless smile on her face. “Are you ready?”

When he nods instead of giving her a real answer, Emma stops reaching for the wheel and realizes what feels different between them. They have six hours together, but she has no idea what’s going to happen after that. This might be her last chance to be honest with him. “Look,” she starts, “I’m sorry.”

Finally, she’s the one surprising him. “For what?”

“When he found us in that alleyway, he wanted me to doubt you. I did, and I’m sorry. I’m not used to trusting anybody the way I trust you…but I do.”

The corner of his mouth kicks up, his dimple threatening to show, but it’s not a full-blown smile.

“I mean it,” Emma continues. “I never had anyone to lose the way you did, but if I did I’d tell you about them too. And you’re not…not whole,” she finishes lamely, wishing she had his knack for words.

“You think so?”

“Yeah, I do.” She gives him a tentative smile of her own and turns the key in the ignition, beginning the long drive ahead of them. The engine flares to life, blowing cool air into the car, but compared to the wind outside it’s almost warm. Either that, or it’s just knowing he’s looking at her again that makes the difference.

Miles down the road, she finds it in her to broach the topic that’s been dancing on the edges of her mind. “Say we actually manage to get ourselves out of this one alive. Are you still following your plan?”

This time, it’s a real smile he’s wearing when he looks her way. “I’m not sure,” he hums, considering her. She can’t see it with her focus trained on not sliding into a ditch, but she knows him well enough to picture it. She pictures him, too, out on the sea with the sun falling freely on his arms, no one chasing him or taunting him from a shadowed corner. Shadows don’t exist for this version of him, except when he covers his eyes with his hands to look in her direction.

“What about you?”

Emma blinks, tearing herself away from the fantasy. She can’t believe the thought even came to her mind, and for a moment she can’t understand what he’s asking her.

“What?”

“What are you going to do with yourself after we get out of this?”

“I don’t really have a plan.”

“You don’t have a plan? That’s not the Emma Swan I know.”

“I’m full of surprises,” she says with a lightness she doesn’t really feel. It earns a chuckle from him anyway. If she tries hard enough she can almost pretend this is any other night. If she forgets Gold waiting for them miles behind and Cora waiting miles ahead, she can almost pretend life will go on exactly the way it has for the last few months.

She knows better, of course, but pretending is what they’re good at.

* * *

Cora’s chalet juts out of the side of the mountains, as distinctive as the Matterhorn itself. What they’re about to do feels a hell of a lot more real now that it’s only a few miles away from them, and the temptation to simply _run_ flares up again.

The outside lights flick on on Cora’s property, and Killian unbuckles his seat. “Let’s go finish this, love.”

The ground is slick, even beneath their high-traction boots, and the wind rushing around them does its best to knock them over. Despite the bitter cold, it’s a good thing; their tracks disappear almost in time with their steps, and as the sky grows blue to welcome the night’s approach they’re impossible to see from the house. When the last light of the day is truly gone, they’ll be able to slip away invisible, assuming everything’s gone to plan.

Killian leads the way a few paces in front of her, less of his legs stuck in the snow compared to hers, and Emma does her best to walk in his footsteps until their feet find harder ground. After that, it takes almost no time at all to reach one of the many exterior doors the chalet has to offer. They approach it carefully, spraying the lens black before moving nearer to the door and out of the wind.

“Be careful in there,” he warns her, tugging his goggles off his face. “Keep an eye on the time.”

“You keep an eye on the door,” she answers back, dropping down on her knees to pick the lock. She has to clear the ice away before she can even attempt working on the pins, but eventually it gives. With one last look at the man beside her, she enters the chalet, the silence swallowing her whole.

It’s not unlike Gold’s mansion back in the foothills of Italy, although the architecture is different. Under the veneer of time-worn stone and heavy wood, it boasts the same grandeur and elegance. It’s longer than it is tall, given that there’s no basement, so Emma looks for a door with different hinges than the others. It’s one of the few personal anecdotes Gold supplied for this particular mission, and as she searches she wonders what Cora ever saw in him.

The bottom floor seems full of rooms used mainly by maintenance staff and hired help, so Emma moves upstairs, finding herself on the main floor. She avoids the wide windows of the great room and opts for a bedroom instead, careful to listen at each door before she enters. The first is a guest room, furnished expensively as any other, but it looks like it’s never been used before. There isn’t a single outlet in the wall, either, so she moves on, finding a bathroom, a walk-in closet and a laundry rooms behind the next three doors. The one that follows after is locked, but it, too, turns out to be a maintenance closet. Emma glances at her watch and sighs, staring down to the very end of the hallway. Her eyes land on a large portrait of Cora and a woman she’s never seen.

At first she thinks it’s a photo, but when she gets close she sees it’s a painting. Emma’s surprised to see it, since the tradition seems so old, but there’s no doubting it’s real. Cora’s standing slightly behind the woman, her hand curled around her shoulder as they both sit poised on a lounge chair. It should look posed, especially given the dresses they’re wearing, but both of them look downright regal. This has to be the daughter Killian mentioned, all grown up.

The resemblance between mother and daughter is obvious; the curve of their brows are the same, and the bow of their lips dips and rise together. The daughter’s hair is darker, shorter than her mother’s, but both have the same powerful skull and jaw. Cora looks exactly the same as she did when they met her on the helipad, save for one difference. The line of her smile is softer, more real. It could be a trick of the artist, but something about the way she sits with her daughter at her side makes it hard to question. What had life been like, having Cora as a mother? A silent, familiar craving begins to gnaw at Emma as she traces her eyes over the tiny brush lines, until movement down the hall registers in her ear.

“What are you doing here?”

The voice cuts like a knife through the hallway, and Emma jolts, twisting around to find one of Cora’s bodyguards staring right at her. Recognition is painted all over his face, and as she blinks her surprise away she remembers him from before, when they’d handed the compass of to Cora. In an instant he’s furious, rushing toward her before she can unzip her coat and retrieve her gun. There’s nowhere to run unless she goes past him, and he’s well aware, swatting her hand back and pressing it against the wall. Her nose smashes into the wall, and pain shoots from her chin to her forehead.

“What are you doing here?” He repeats, demanding an answer from her. Emma raises her other hand up, trying to slam her fist into his nose, but he wrenches it down too, spinning her around to wrap the curve of his elbow around her neck.

Emma’s survival instincts begin to take over the second his skin bears down on her throat. Her feet scrabble uselessly against the carpet, finding no purchase as she tries to right herself. It doesn’t help that he’s shoving her down, making it impossible for her to kick anywhere but into the wall behind herself.

“She gave you _more_ than enough money for the job,” he tells her gruffly, ducking his head to the side to avoid Emma’s head ramming into his chin. “You should have taken it and run.”

“I tried,” Emma wheezes, trying and failing once more to stand. When that doesn’t work she jerks herself around in his arms, earning herself enough freedom to kick up and slam her knee into his gut. He yelps in pain and drops her on the floor, feet away from her gun. Emma crawls for it, diving for a second’s advantage over the man even though she knows the plan’s gone to shit. If she doesn’t get the upper hand soon, she won’t have time to find the safe before someone else comes, let alone open it.

He catches her foot just before her fingers slide over the butt of the pistol, dragging her back and burning her cheek against the rug. He leans down heavily on her, pressing the length of his arm against her windpipe this time, and it’s then that Emma begins to see stars swimming in her vision.

Her breaths come shallower and shallower, weak coughs straining against the weight of the livid man above her. The last thing she hears before her vision starts to go spotty is another pair of footsteps running toward them.

The man’s arm is torn off her neck, and air rushes through her like a flood. Emma rolls herself to the side, desperate to fill her lungs with air, and as she pants she sees a dark-haired man in a white snow suit slam Cora’s man into the wall, knocking his head against the heavy brass frame that encases the portrait. His eyes roll into his head and fall shut as he slumps, leaving a small, dark trail of blood on the wallpaper behind him.

Killian’s face swims in her vision. “Are you all right, love?” His voice is far too soft, his eyes far too concerned, as if the only thing they have to worry about right now is whether she can breathe. Emma nods and tries to sit up, but he grips her shoulder, holding her there for a moment.

“Give yourself a minute,” he tells her, his eyes searching her face as his hand drifts up to her cheek. Her rug burn stings when his thumb sweeps across it, but it’s a reminder that she’s still breathing, still conscious, so she lets it go without more than a flinch. “Did you find the safe?”

“No, I haven’t,” she admits, her voice rough. She can’t stand to admit her failure and look at him at the same time, so she looks past him toward the painting, her eyes landing on the frame. Blood trickles through the filigree, curving and twisting until it hits a strange, perfectly straight seam. A seam that leads almost all the way up the side of the painting. A seam looks like it can be opened. “Unless that’s it.”

Killian pivots on his knee, turning to follow her eye. It takes him a few seconds to see what she’s looking at, but by then it’s easier to breathe, to sit up and study the frame more closely.

“This is the safe?”

“It might be.” He looks back at her hand extends his hand, helping her to stand until he’s certain she can manage it on her own. Emma walks forward while Killian shoves the unconscious man aside, and when her fingers run along the grooves in the brass frame she’s sure she’s right. She bends low again, ignoring the ache in her knees and her throbbing head, and finds a sturdy metal track. Emma pushes the picture, and with effort it gives, sliding slowly to the left and revealing the safe.

Her hand shakes when she lifts it to the lock, but she lifts it still, willing it to be steady as she tugs her headphones from within her coat. Emma wipes at the dried blood above her lip and then places them over her ears, taking the deepest breath she can muster. The beat of her heart surges in her ears now that they’re covered, the only sound besides the dial as she moves it one tick at a time.

One attempt fails, and then two, and then three. Emma drops her hands from the lock and turns back to Killian. “I can’t do this. I can’t focus. I need a drill.”

Killian reaches for her hand and places it gently back over the lock, his fingers covering hers. “I don’t believe that for a second,” he murmurs. “You can do this. I know you can.” His fingers slide away down her arm, and Emma tries again, letting another slow breath out.

This time, the lock clicks open, and the hard drive is waiting right in front of them. Emma sighs with relief and slides back against the wall as Killian begins to extract the data, taking a moment to play the lookout for once, but she doesn’t get the chance to relax.

Cora, the real one, is walking right toward them.

“I have to admit, _this_ was a surprise,” Cora says, smiling humorlessly at the both of them. Killian lifts his hands from the hard drive, trying to set it back into the safe and hide the cable he’s inserted into it, but Cora can see everything they’re doing as she prowls forward. “I hired the two of you to steal something for me. I paid you two well, and I left you alone. What a stupid, ungrateful decision you’ve made, coming back here.”

Emma looks to Killian and back to Cora again. Her gun is still too far out of reach on the floor, and the minute Killian reveals his Cora will call for backup. They’re out of options.

“Gold found us after we left you at the helipad,” she starts, words sliding off her tongue without thought. “He had men following us, and he has a tape with footage of us breaking into his safe. Either we stole information about your company from you or we both went to jail.”

Cora purses her lips. “How did you know how to find me here?”

“Gold has a contact working with border air traffic.” Emma blinks up at her, trying to read the expression on Cora’s face to gauge the chances they’ll make it out alive. “How did you know we were here?”

Cora smiles. “Opening the painting triggers a silent alarm. I have an electronic key that disables it,” she tells them pleasantly enough. Then she steps forward, and Emma tenses for another fight.

“I have one more question for the both of you, and then I believe we can finish up here.”

* * *

Snow drops as steadily as ever from the indigo sky, settling thick in a blanket along the mountainside. Lights from the ski resort paint the surrounding valley orange, but everything else is deep, deep blue until it disappears into the horizon. There’s a thickness to the quiet that makes the world feel empty of everything, like they’re the only people looking at the road ahead of them.

Emma shifts in her seat, watching their headlights cut through the falling snow. Any moment Gold’s car will rise up out of the darkness and into the light, and she wants to see him when he arrives.

It doesn’t take long for their wish to be granted. As Killian fiddles with the external hard drive, a dark sedan comes flying up the mountain road, sending slush and ice everywhere, stopping just shy of where they’re parked. Emma sucks in a breath and opens her door, leaving the key in the ignition. Killian follows her out, and together they stand watching as Gold exits his own vehicle.

“I take it you had a little trouble retrieving our prize?” Gold asks cheerfully, noting the burn mark on her cheek and the blood on her lip.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Emma tells him.

“Glad to hear it.” He extends his hand toward them, but neither Killian nor Emma budge.

“We’d like to see our tape first,” Killian tells him, his face stony and unreadable. “Once we know that it’s the real deal, you can have Cora’s information.”

“I’m afraid you aren’t exactly in a position to be setting terms,” Gold laments, taking another step further. “Once _I_ have confirmed that your information is accurate, you can see the tape.”

Killian clenches his jaw, looking to Emma. She relents and gives him a nod, hoping this will pay off the way they want it to. Of all the ways she’s imagined dying, freezing to death on a mountainside isn’t high on her list.

Gold giggles to himself as he examines the hard drive, weighing it in his palm. “You’re welcome to get back in your vehicle and wait. I’d like to review these myself.”

“Go right ahead,” Emma mutters, but he’s already back in the vehicle. She doesn’t make a move, and like he’s reading her mind Killian doesn’t either. They stand in the snowfall together, staring at the tinted windows of the vehicle.

When the first spark of light flashes inside the car, rolling into a cloud of light and heat, Emma’s eyes grow wide. When the windows burst and glass flies in every direction she feels herself getting pushed to the ground. Heat thunders over them, rolling in a wind that seems to melt the snow in the air. Like a flare, the car burns, trailing a column of smoke in the air.

Sirens begin to wail in the distance, and slowly Killian pulls himself off of her. His eyes are wild with surprise, and he has a deep cut on his cheek where a piece of glass has raked across his skin, but the both of them are alive. One look at Gold’s car tells them he wasn’t so lucky.

* * *

_“I have one more question for the both of you, and then I believe we can finish up here.”_

_Her tone is just confusing enough that Emma’s thrown off her guard. She still sounds angry, but there’s a sort of invitation to her tone. That, and she has yet to even try calling anyone on her phone._

_“All right,” Emma replies hesitantly. “What is it?”_

_“Did Mister Gold travel here with you, or is he still hiding down south?”_

_“What?”_

_“I want to know if he came here with you. If he’s close,” Cora clarifies, as though it should be obvious. “If he is, I believe I can solve both of our problems at the same time.”_

_Neither of them want to believe it. Emma knows only too well what it’s like to fall for something that’s too good to be true, to be lulled into a false sense of security. The thing is, she realizes, there’s no lie in Cora’s eyes._

_“Why do you want to help us?”_

_“This isn’t about either of you,” Cora laughs, spreading her hands wide. “This is between Robert Gold and myself. Given the choice between punishing you two and punishing him, I much prefer the latter.”_

_Cora shuts the safe and pushes the painting back into place, wiping the blood on the frame away until it’s unblemished once again. She spares a second to look up at her daughter before turning back to the two of them, exhaling deeply and rolling her shoulders back._

_“How much time do we have before he expects you back?”_

* * *

“I thought it was supposed to be a fake hard drive.”

They stand together on the balcony, warm sunlight pouring into the glasses in their hands as they lean on the railing. Killian’s sleeves are rolled up so the sun can soak into his skin, his shirt unbuttoned dangerously low for the same effect. He shakes the ice around his glass for a moment and then takes another sip, eyeing her over the rim to make sure she wants to talk about this.

“I guess it was,” Emma shrugs, shaking her hair back behind her shoulders. The sun is a welcome gift compared to the snow up in the mountains, and she’ll be happy if she never sees one again. “But I didn’t think she’d send us with a bomb.”

“That makes two of us.” There isn’t a shred of regret in Killian’s voice, and she guesses she can understand. He took his hand from him, along with several years of his life and who knows what else. Emma takes a long drink from the glass in her hand, swallowing thoughts about all of the questions she could ask him if there was time. This isn’t just a celebratory drink. To her, it feels like goodbye.

“Something on your mind, Swan?”

“Just trying to figure out what’s next,” she hedges, moving as close to the truth as she can manage. “It’s weird not having another job to get ready for.”

“You’re not planning on missing me, are you?” He grins, turning around to face her. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“How nice of you.”

“It is the end of an era, though,” he continues, setting down his glass on the table in front of them. “Free from Cora, free from Gold…we could do anything.”

“We?” Emma asks, her eyes on the glass he’s just put down. It’s all well and good if he wants to dance into her space and waggle his eyebrows, but every word he says is just a reminder that she’s about to be who she was before all of this began: alone.

“Unless that isn’t what you want.”

Emma lifts her eyes to his and finds them earnest, once again more green than blue under the golden evening sun. The way he’s looking at her should make her feel trapped, especially given this tiny balcony they’re both standing on, but she knows he’ll let her move if she wants to. Killian has always given her the lead, always given her the chance to make the decision for herself. That’s the thing about him, she realizes. Even when they bicker, even when they disagree, he’s never once made her feel like she’s anything less than his equal.

“What if it was?” She asks him, her voice as low as his. Killian’s lips curl into a smile, proud and hopeful and free, and he takes the opportunity to snake his arm around her waist, erasing the small distance between them.

“That’s when the real fun begins,”  he tells her, leaning in close.

* * *

Salty air tugs at the sarong around Emma’s waist, threatening to send it into the sea entirely. She slaps a hand to her hip before it can pull free and fixes the knot, ignoring the sound of whistling coming from the back of the boat.

“You could have just let it go free,” Killian calls as she approaches, peering at her from above his sunglasses. The sailboat bobs peacefully in the water below them, its sails shifting slightly in the wind. Everything around them is glassy and still, and the best part of all is that there’s nobody around to see her when she smiles back.

His eyes take a slow climb from her toes up to her hair as she climbs the steps to stand next to him at the wheel. He reaches over to tug at her newly tied knot, and when she swats him away he just tugs her into his side instead.

“Can’t blame a man for trying, Swan,” he tells her, sliding his fingers across the bare skin of her back. Emma leans into him, pressing her own hand between his shoulder blades to trace the freckles she knows are there. “Do you think you might want to head in soon so we can eat?”

Emma hums, twisting so she can see more of him than she can the ocean. “I’d rather get something from that shack at the marina and come back out here.”

“We could do that,” Killian nods, forgetting the wheel entirely in favor of holding her. “In fact, we could stock up, fill the cooler and sail down the coast if you wanted to, Swan. You know how I know?”

“How?” she indulges him, her lips curling into a soft smile.

“Because,” he answers, nosing her cheek. “You and I have all the time in the world.”

His lips taste like salt, and his hands are the sun, sweeping warmth across her back and into her hair. The ripple of the sailcloth above them keeps throwing shadows across them, but Emma can barely sense the change between sun and shade as he kisses her.

When he realizes the ship’s wheel is pressing into her back he spins her around and moves to the mast, and this time the movement really does send Emma’s sarong flying, leaving only her bikini bottoms beneath. She breaks away, thinking of going after it, but he murmurs _leave it_ against her lips in a laugh, and it’s remarkably easy to forget when the stubble of his jaw rubs against her chin. Emma’s hand slides over his shoulder, short nails combing through the hair at the back of his neck. She feels him suck in a breath from the sensation, and now it’s her smiling into the kiss. This is what freedom feels like — Killian and her sailing underneath a full summer sun, chasing each other’s lips until there’s no space for either of them to do anything but breathe.

It’s not about nobody knowing they’re here, she thinks. It’s knowing he’s here with her. Emma tugs lightly at his bottom lip with hers before pulling back, looking at him from below her eyelashes.

“I like the sound of that.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you saw any errors, please let me know! It doesn't offend me if you're helping me write something more grammatically correct than it was before!


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